FEAR: Circle of Hatred
by Arashi21
Summary: The Shadow of Project Origin surrounds a 10 year old boy as he struggles with the demons in his mind and the nightmares coming for him in the darkness to eventually become the F.E.A.R point man.  Rated T for language and violence
1. Interval 01: Advent

The Other Side of F.E.A.R

_Disclaimer: the F.E.A.R name is the property of Vivendi and F.E.A.R characters and settings are owned by Monolith_

Interval 01

Advent

Spen Jankowski sat idly in the meeting room, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair with impatience. Jin Sun-Kwon sat opposite of him, her stature calm and stoic. She almost seemed bored as she too, waited for Betters to come back. Today was the day First Encounter Assault Recon would receive their new point man. Jankowski seemed to be the only one who was physically affected by it as he sat and waited to be introduced to the new guy. As time passed on Jankowski's fingers tapped harder and faster on the arm of the chair as his patience began to wear thin.

"Would you stop doing that please?" said Jin coolly, "It's starting to get on my nerves."

"Give me a break, will ya?" Jankowski sighed with impatience, but he stopped tapping, if only for her sake."

"What's gotten into you?" Asked Jin, "It's been awhile since I've seen you this tense."

"It's nothing," replied Jankowski.

"Please" Jin scoffed, "don't try that line on me. Just say what's on your mind Jankowski."

Jankowski sat silently, not wanting to betray his thoughts to Jin. He didn't want her to know how nervous he was.

"It's about the new point man isn't it?" she said, but Jankowski just remained silent.

"What's wrong?" Jin broke the silence again. "You afraid he's going to replace you or something?"

Jankowski, realizing that Jin wasn't going to stop on her own, finally gave in and answered her.

"It's not that," he said. "I guess I just feel kinda uncomfortable around rookies."

"Well you aren't exactly the life of a party yourself." Jin retorted wittily, cracking a slight smile of mischief at her teammate's expense.

"Very funny," replied an irritated Jankowski. "I just mean I don't really like having to tell rookies what to do all the time. You know, like I have to hold their hand for the first few weeks while they take their time figuring out the kind of work we do."

"Poor baby," said Jin sarcastically. "It must be so hard on you."

"Shut up…" was Jankowski's only reply.

Just then the door opened and the F.E.A.R team coordinator, "Rowdy" Betters walked into the room, wearing his easily distinguishable "F.E.A.R," labeled hat and vest.

"How's it going team?" he said to them casually.

"Well we've been sitting here on our asses waiting for you to show up," replied Jankowski. "What took you so long anyway?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Betters said, his mid-western accent making itself apparent. "It took a little longer than expected for the new point man to arrive. Some red tape shit. But whatever, we're here now."

"So where is he?" inquired Jin.

"Just hold on," replied Betters. "I thought it would be best it you were all formally introduced." Betters then walked back to the doorway and stuck his head out to the other side.

"Ok buddy, come on in."

With that, Betters walked back into the meeting room. Following him were heavy footsteps as the new point man began to emerge from the other side of the door.

A young man walked into the room, he was about average height and wore a gray t-shirt and white pants. His head had recently been shaved, as per regulation, but he still had more hair than Jankowski, enough at least to know that his hair was black. His skin was pale, as though he had rarely been out in the sun. As he walked in the room he kept his head down, as if he was looking at the floor. He seemed to be trying not to show his face. For a moment there was awkward silence as they all stayed in the room motionless, waiting for someone to break the ice.

"Um…allow me to introduce you guys to John." Betters finally said. "This is F.E.A.R.'s new point man."

Jankowski was the first to move. He got up from his chair and walked toward the point man.

"Hey man," he said in a friendly manner. "Welcome to the team, the name's Jankowski."

Jankowski extended his hand to the new point man in a gesture of friendship. John moved his head up a little so he could see the hand, but made no attempt to show his face. Rather than accept Jankowski's greeting, John simply stood there, apprehensive about the situation. Jankowski was left with his hand extended outward awkwardly.

"Uh…you shake it," said Jankowski, trying half-heartedly to sound like he was joking around, when in fact he felt a little bit awkward.

Suddenly, John's head shot up quickly and finally Jankowski's eyes met his. As soon as they did, Jankowski stepped back in shock.

John was glaring at him angrily, but Jankowski wasn't paying attention to that. He was too focused on the voids that were this man's eyes. His eyes were black and looked like endless voids. His stare sent a shiver down Jankowski's spine that he had never experienced before. He felt like this man's eyes were piercing him, going right through him like sniper bullets. Even remembering all the strange and abnormal things he had seen since he joined F.E.A.R, he had never seen anything as cold as this man's eyes.

John glared at him for only a few seconds, and then turned his eyes away quickly, as if he was ashamed.

It took Jankowski a few seconds for the initial shock of the encounter wore off before he spoke again.

"Not much of a people-person is he?" he muttered.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have insulted his intelligence." Replied Jin calmly, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"What the hell did I do?" exclaimed Jankowski. But before Jin could answer him, Betters spoke again.

"Okay, that's enough," He said plainly. "So much for first impressions I suppose."

"I'll say…" Jankowski uttered under his breath, but no one seemed to pay any attention.

"Okay, first thing's first," said Betters turning to John. "We need to get you suited up," he then turned to F.E.A.R's medical specialist. "Jin, can you show him to the armory so he can get fitted with a uniform?'

"No problem," she replied as she got up from her chair.

"Follow me, it's this way," she said to the new point man as she walked out the door that he had just come through a minute ago. John stayed in the room for about a second, again feeling apprehensive, until he reluctantly decided to follow Jin, leaving only Jankowski and Betters in the meeting room.

"So…" began Jankowski, still a little unnerved by the initial greeting. "Does that guy talk at all?"

"No, he doesn't," replied Betters flatly.

Jankowski cocked an eyebrow at the commissioner. "What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said," Betters replied simply. "He doesn't speak. He's a mute."

"A mute?" exclaimed Jankowski, "You're telling me that a mute has been transferred to a top secret Special Forces team? Has Command gone fucking nuts!?"

"Calm down Jankowski," said Betters, "he's a mute, not a retard. Apparently he's been observed by Command for some time. They personally requested his transfer to F.E.A.R."

"But how's someone who can't talk going to be able to communicate with the rest of the team?" asked Jankowski. "What good is a point man that can't relay his position or provide recon information?"

"Don't ask me," replied Betters. "I didn't make the call. Like I said, Command personally requested his transfer, so I'm sure they've worked it out. In the meantime, we can track his signal in any situation like everyone else."

"I don't know," said Jankowski, "I'm pretty sure this is a bad idea…"

Betters sighed with impatience. "Look," he said, "You and I both know that people who are transferred to F.E.A.R are chosen because of their 'unique' abilities. The kind of stuff most people don't have. You have that sixth sense thing so you know when danger's coming before most people would, and Jin's got that ability to sense people's emotions."

"So what does the new guy have?" Jankowski inquired.

"I don't know," said Betters, rubbing the back of his neck. "The only thing I got about this guy was some background information and a gag order not to tell anyone about him. We should see what he can do when he does the training exercise."

"Well that's just great," Jankowski scoffed. "So what's this guy's story anyway?

"

"I don't know the details," said Betters, pulling out a few rolled up pieces of paper he had in his pants pocket, he then proceeded unrolled them to relay the information to Jankowski "But the information I got said he was a ward of the state until a few years ago. He lived in a government sponsored orphanage or something like that, and then he was enlisted into an ROTC program for basic training. From what I hear, this guy had a huge impact on the place."

"How?" asked Jankowski, he tried to sound indifferent but he was actually very interested in hearing the rest of it.

"Doesn't say," Replied Betters, "I guess they wanted to keep a lid on it,"

"That figures," said Jankowski, disappointed. "Anything else?"

"Let's see…" Betters said as he began to scan the documents in his hand. His eyes moved back and fourth as he scrolled down the paper, quickly looking over any relevant information.

"Oh, here's something." He said after a few seconds of reading. "Apparently, the reason he doesn't speak is due to traumatic events that occurred during his childhood."

"Really?" said Jankowski, beginning to feel a little guilty about his first meeting with the new point man. "Like what?"

"It says he suffered from debilitating nightmares and hallucinations since he was about three. It seems that they were so disturbing that he stopped trying to speak shortly after they started happening. It also says that he only got about three hours of accumulative sleep a day according to records and he also kept to himself most of the time. It sounds like his childhood wasn't much fun."

"Holy shit…" said Jankowski, the guilt beginning to swell in his chest. He couldn't have imagined what it would have been like to grow up like that, and still keep your sanity. Even though he had just met the guy, he felt like he had a good reason for not speaking.

"You can say that again," replied Betters. He began to read the papers again, looking for anything else that Jankowski might need to know. Then he came across some information that caught his eye.

"Hmm, this is interesting," he said finally

"What?"

"Evidently, there was an incident about 15 years ago in the orphanage where he lived." Replied Betters, "This must have been what got the brass interested in him in the first place…"

To be continued…


	2. Interval 02: Recollection

Interval 02

Recollection

The cold weather that followed autumn had come full circle. The skies were nearly always cluttered with large, ominous gray clouds, even though it hardly ever rained. The world looked so dull now; the rays of the sun were being blocked out by the clouds, making the outside world seem insipid and bland. The children didn't seem to mind though. They continued to play cheerfully even as the light began to fade. They swung on swing sets, cheered gleefully as they slid down the slides, and they made themselves dizzy on the merry-go-round. The cold of the autumn air and the darkness coming as day began to transition to night had no affect on them. Every piece of playground equipment was tested to its limits by the children and every part of the playground explored, except for one place…

Of all the places the children played however, they avoided the sandbox in the middle of the playground. It wasn't that they were bored or tired, in fact, many of them wanted to play in the sandbox at least once before they had to go inside. Yet they stayed away from it, did their best to avoid going near it or even look at it, because they were afraid. They were afraid, because _he _was there.

One boy sat alone on the edge of the sandbox. He wore a simple blue shirt and ordinary jeans. At a glance this boy seemed ordinary enough, but his head was drooped down as if he was ashamed to show his face. His black hair was long for a ten-year old boy, and he let his long bangs hang loosely over his face. He did it to cover up his eyes, because every time one of the children saw his eyes they ran from him, as if there was a monster behind his eyes. The others mocked and teased him; they came up with derogatory names for him, mostly because he never spoke, but also because they were afraid…

John sat alone, looking at the grass below him as he listened to the other children's' exuberant voices as they played together. He wanted to play with them too, but at the same time, he didn't. He wanted to enjoy having fun like the rest of them, but he hated them. He was caught between resentment and desire.

His nightmares kept him awake at night and his visions frightened him during the day. John yearned for nothing more than to have friends; to have people that could wash away the fear and resentment. But no one ever understood him. If he looked at them they ran, or pretended he wasn't there. And when they did talk to him, it was only to make fun of him.

He hated them all…

John heard footsteps approaching, crushing the grass as they got closer to him. It sounded like more than one person, but their steps were light on the ground, like they weren't too heavy. They were children's footsteps.

John heard them stop in front of him, but he didn't lift his head to see. He didn't need to. He knew there were three of them; one a red-headed boy with freckles dotting his face, another blond-haired, blue-eyed boy with a gap between his two front teeth, and the one in the middle, the "leader", was a boy with black hair like John's, only much shorter.

John never bothered to remember their names, but he knew them because these three were the same. They seemed to enjoy tormenting him. They were the instigators of it all, or so it seemed to John. He ignored them in the past, but each time they approached him, each time they call him names, yelled at him, tried to bully him, it became harder and harder to disregard.

How much longer could he tolerate it before he succumbed?

"Get outta here, freak!" said the boy in the middle.

They weren't very creative with their name-calling…

"Yeah!" shouted the red-head at his side, he sounded like a subservient puppet as he spoke; as if he hung on his leader's every word. "We wanna play here now, you need to go away!"

The third boy didn't say anything; he looked like he didn't want to even be there. He was frightened of John, just like everyone else, but he followed the lead boy around like a puppy, he went where his "master" went, even if he didn't want to go.

John ignored them, as he always did; remaining stoic as if there was nothing there.

Obviously they didn't take kindly to that.

"Hey, freak!" shouted the leader angrily, "I'm talkin' to you!"

But John once again ignored them.

The lead boy was breathing hard with frustration. "You think you're special or sumthin'? You think you can just hog the sandbox all to yourself?"

John offered the boy the slightest lift of his head, so john could see him through his bangs. The boy looked mad, frustrated that he wasn't getting things the way he wanted. He was probably used to having everything his way, John thought. John didn't "hog" anything; he just sat where he chose. It was everyone else's choice to avoid him. They all wanted to stay away from him, _they _were the reason he was here alone…

And these three were trying to say it was his fault…

"No one even wants you around!" The red-haired boy suddenly shouted. "Everyone hates you, freak! Why don't you just go away?!"

"You should just go back to whatever hole you crawled out of!"

John looked back down at the grass. He felt the anger swelling in his chest and clenched his fist slightly as their words cut into him. It wasn't fair; why did they hate him? Were they scared of him? What did he ever do besides stay away from them?

John felt tears well up in his eyes, but he forced them back down. He didn't want them to see his weakness. Every day he was plagued by visions of horrible places, and things no one else could see. Every night he suffered horrible nightmares that would make anyone else go insane. He felt the despair and emptiness of having no one to comfort him. They had no idea what it was like to suffer from fear all the time, to see things that no one else could imagine, to not be free from them awake or asleep.

They had no idea…

"Get outta here!" he heard the lead boy shout. The loudness of his voice was enough to gain John's attention. Enough to see something fly out of the boy's hand in his direction.

John clearly saw it. The world seemed to slow down for an instant as he saw a rock come flying towards him from the other boy's hand. John reached up to stop the projectile, moving with inhuman accuracy and speed. He caught the rock easily, but the attack was the final straw.

John brought the full view of his face up to them. He no longer tried to hide his eyes. He glared at the black-haired boy, anger radiating out of the voids that were his eyes. Tears of frustration and anger trickled down his cheeks. He was breathing hard, rage escaping with every exhale through his bared teeth. He continued to hold the rock where he caught it, as if he would throw it back at them. He didn't make any motion to throw it back however. Instead he gripped it tightly and squeezed it in his hand and just sat and stared with fury.

It was the sight of John's eyes that made the three boys freeze in their tracks. They stared into something they had never seen before, something they never wanted to see. The lead boy was the one who met John's eyes with his, and he was affected most of all. John's black eyes looked empty, like pure nothingness, yet they pierced through him like two blades.

"S-stop it." The boy said, his voice quivering. It was unnerving to see what he was seeing. John's glaring face was practically exuding rage and fury, but he didn't say a word. They wanted him to shout. They wanted him to scream. They wanted him to say "I hate you!" They wanted him to say _something_ so they could escape the fear they were in, so they could feel like he was normal, if only for an instant, so they wouldn't be so terrified.

But John never spoke, never shouted, never screamed, and, though tears would sometimes shed, he never cried aloud. All he did was breathe. And now with every breath they could feel his hate, his anger, torrent out.

"STOP IT!" the boy screamed. John could see tears begin to trickle down the boy's face. He was scared.

John felt a small hint of satisfaction as he saw the three boys begin to cower, but it was nothing that could change his expression. He continued to breathe hard with anger and his face was still molded with rage. He was gripping the rock so hard he felt the pain as the hard edges of the rock began to tear into the soft flesh of his hand. He ignored it, even as blood began to trickle out from behind the rock and flow down his arm. He hated them. He hated how they treated him. He despised how they made him feel. He wanted to make them stop, once and for all. He wanted to…

"_Hurt them…"_

In an instant, John's face changed to an expression of shock. A voice had spoken in his head. He knew that voice. He had heard it before, though he didn't know who it was or why they spoke. He knew it belonged to _her._

"_Hurt them…"_

The voice echoed in his head again. He looked around him, he didn't see her. She was often hiding in the shadows, or seen just out of the corner of his eye. But when she spoke, she would often be seen in plain sight. But he couldn't see her now.

Suddenly he heard more whispers. They sounded like they were coming from a lot of people. They were quiet and incoherent; John couldn't tell what they were saying. He had heard this before; often these whispers would filter into his mind when he was trying to sleep, or when he was alone in a quiet room. Then, one last whisper suddenly became understandable.

"_I'm over here…" _

The voice sounded like it was somewhere above him.

John raised his head higher, past the frightened children in front of him, and locked his eyes on the top bar of the swing set just behind them. Atop the bar, he saw her.

A little girl in a red dress stared back at him from the top of the swing set. Her face was blank, devoid of any noticeable emotion. Her long black hair obscured some of her face. Her eyes were the same as John's: black, empty voids. Only her eyes seemed to go deeper than his. John didn't look directly at them; he knew how his own eyes made everyone else run. He didn't want to face the very thing that made him the target of everyone's fear.

John stared at the little girl, eyes filled with terror. She was the subject of his hallucinations. She was the source of his nightmares. Even though all she often did was stand in the shadows, watching him, observing, but not causing any harm, John couldn't help but be afraid of her. Something about her was wrong…

"_Hurt them."_ John heard her say, though her lips didn't move. He heard her words continue to echo in his head. "_Make them suffer."_

John shook his head slightly, hesitating to make the movements. The expression on the girl's face did not change however, but she continued to whisper. John continued to fight her; he didn't want to do what she said…

"_Hurt them…"_

_No…_

"_Make them suffer…"_

_No…_

"_Kill them…"_

_No!_

"_Kill them! ..."_

Her words were echoing in his head so loudly they seemed like they would try to break out of his skull. Though she never shouted her whispers alone help power that even the mightiest scream could not hold. The sheer weight of her words…her voice…was too much…

The three boys, in the meantime, had seen John's terrified expression and looked to see what was apparently behind them. Of course, all they saw was the top bar of the swing set.

"What's he looking at?" one of them said.

None of them answered.

"What's going on over there?" they all heard a woman's voice shout. The three boys and John quickly turned their heads in the direction of the voice.

A woman walked briskly towards them. She was young, barely past 30. She had wavy, blond hair that came down to her shoulders. She dressed casually, as one would expect a mother to dress, even though she had no children of her own. The tag at the bottom of her shirt was a sign that she worked here. It read: Catherine Wrede.

She was kind-hearted, but she wasn't soft, especially when it came to consequences of bad behavior. All the children knew better then to get on her bad side.

John immediately dropped the rock that was still in his hand as she came up to them, glaring at the three boys. "Walter," she said "I told you before to leave John alone."

John grinned a little at hearing his name was "Walter," such a clean-sounding name didn't fit his personality at all.

Walter, meanwhile, looked appalled, as if he had been wrongfully accused.

"But he-!"

"I don't want to hear it Walter." She said, annoyed. "If you keep picking fights with him, he may just oblige you one day.

He turned his eyes to John for a moment, and saw him grinning through the corner of his mouth. That subtle expression was enough to get him to back off, at least for now…

"If I catch you, or your friends bullying him again, the three of you are going to be severely punished. Do you understand?"

Walter hung his head down in shame; it was obviously a false gesture.

"Yes Ms. Wrede."

"Good." She said. "Now I want the three of you to go back inside, recess is over."

The three boys obeyed, and ran to door leading inside. It was only a few seconds before the other children began to shuffle in behind them. John was the last one outside; his only company was Ms. Wrede.

She turned to John, her face changing to a warm, comforting expression.

"Are you alright?" she asked him.

John looked back up to the top of the swings, there was nothing there anymore, and he just noticed the whispers had stopped.

John nodded.

Catherine smiled at him. John always knew her as Catherine, since he couldn't address her as anything, he just thought of her with her first name. she was the only one who wasn't scared of his eyes. She was the only person who ever gave him comfort.

He loved her for that…

"You know sweetheart," she said, trying to say it in a motherly way. "If you tried to play with the other children, you might not get picked on so much."

John let his head droop down and his eyes shifted to his left at her comment. It wasn't that he wanted to avoid them, or, at least it wasn't _always_ like that. They were the ones that didn't want to talk to _him_. They avoided him or ran away from him when he used to try to play with them. All it took was one look in his eyes, and they suddenly stopped being friendly.

"My god…" John heard her say, and he turned back to her. "What happened to your hand?" She was looking the hand he had held the rock in before.

John hadn't even noticed it until now, but once he brought his hand to his eyes, he suddenly felt the stinging pain from the bloody pieces of skin where the rock's sharp edges had torn through his soft skin. Without thinking about what he was doing, he looked down at the rock he had held in his hand before. Catherine saw him and discovered the rock on the ground at John's feet.

"I see," she said, "I thought I saw something in your hand." She picked up the rock. She observed the blood, still wet on its rough surface. "They threw this at you didn't they?"

John nodded.

Catherine shook her head in disapproval. "I can't believe they would-" she stopped short. She sounded choked up, like she was going to cry. The truth was she felt very close to it; she couldn't understand how someone could be that cruel, especially to someone like John, who had enough to go through…

She pulled herself back together after a second and looked back at John. "You weren't going to throw it back at them, were you?"

John looked at her for a minute. He certainly felt like throwing it back when it happened. He was so angry, so full of hate at that moment; he was surprised he hadn't thrown the rock. Everything in his body seemed to want to throw it. Everything except one thing…

He didn't know what it was, but he felt it swell up in his chest at that moment, burning as if his heart was being slowly roasted. That feeling was what stayed his hand. Even when he could hear _her_ voice in his head, telling him to throw it, telling him to hurt them, that burning feeling in his chest remained. It was a feeling, he knew that for certain, but he didn't know which one it was…

Finally, John shook his head.

Catherine's expression changed to one of relief.

"I'm glad you didn't." she said. "What they did was wrong, but you showed how much stronger you were by not fighting them back." She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "It's never good to hurt someone, OK?

John nodded, and smiled at her. She seemed to know what it took to make him feel better.

With that, Catherine stood up and extended her hand to John. "Come on," she said, "Let's go back inside, it looks like its going to rain soon."

John knew it wouldn't rain, it never did…

Two men had been standing by the fence observing everything. One was an older man; he wore glasses and had a thick moustache. The other man appeared younger, but only slightly. He was bald and, despite being younger, looked more worn and weary than the other man.

"Well, that was interesting," the older man said of them said.

"It was,"

"Unfortunately, it still doesn't confirm anything."

"Harlan, what are you talking about?" said the bald man. "Did you see how fast he moved? How is that not conclusive?"

"Because Chuck." Harlan began, "While impressive, that shows no sign of telepathic abilities. At best, he may have precognitive abilities. At worst, he may just have good reflexes."

"But to catch that rock that quickly from that close range?" Chuck protested. "You can't tell me you chock it up to just good reflexes."

"I'm not saying that," said Harlan. "I'm just saying that we have no conclusive evidence that the first prototype is telepathic."

"Well, maybe he just needs more time," said Chuck. "I mean, he's only ten years old."

"Did you forget that his mother was only eight when her abilities first manifested?" Harlan spat. "Her powers were incredibly strong. And the second prototype is showing telepathic abilities around the same age. The first prototype, however, is two years older than his mother was and he still hasn't shown any similar abilities."

"Even so, I still think we should continue to observe him," said Chuck. "I always heard that boys have a harder time developing psychic abilities than girls. The second prototype may have been a fluke."

"Even if that's true, Genevieve is going to be more interested in the second prototype," replied Harlan. "Frankly I have no idea why she wants us to keep an eye on the first, seems like a failure in my opinion."

"You know how Genevieve operates," said Chuck. "She always seems to know more about what's going on than the rest of us."

"You noticed that too huh?" said Harlan sarcastically. He watched John as he entered the building.

"He really does look like his mother."

"Got that right," said Chuck. "Those eyes of his give me the creeps."

"That's what reminds me most of her." Harlan said. He looked up into the sky as if lost in thought.

"So you think we gathered enough data for today?" said Chuck. "I'm sure Aristide, wants this information as soon as possible."

"Yeah," replied Harlan, "Let's pack it up and head back. It's still a waste of time of you ask me."

The two men left, moving casually as though they had been walking down the street until they got to their car and drove off.

John watched them leave through the window, glaring as their car drove off…


End file.
